Lady Elizabeth looked across the parlor to where Francesca had settled on the daybed. “Mind you, you already had Cantle leaning your way-inviting her to accompany us from the first was a stroke of genius.”

Francesca smiled. “I wanted to be sure she understood I valued her.”

“You succeeded in making them all believe that.”

“I also value what you and Henni have done to ease my way. It would have been much more difficult without your help.”

Both older women looked startled, then blushed.

“Well, just in case you don’t realize,” Henni said gruffly, “we’ll expect regular reports once we’re ensconced at the Dower House.”

“Frequent regular reports.” Lady Elizabeth’s lips thinned. “I still can’t believe any son of mine would be so idiotic as to imagine any Rawlings could possibly make do with a”-she gestured airily-“distant marriage. You’ll have to come and reassure me that he is, in fact, coming to his senses.”


* * *

Would he come to his senses? That was the question that concerned Francesca. She was less worried over how long it might take. She’d married him; marriage lasted for a lifetime. A few months, even a year-she was willing to wait. She’d waited until now, for him.

For a chance at making her dream a reality.

After luncheon, they all walked to the Dower House, crossing the park under the huge trees. It wasn’t far, but the Dower House was not visible from the Castle, screened by the trees and a fold in the land.

After looking around the pretty Georgian house, then partaking of tea served by a maid clearly overawed by her recent promotion, Francesca and Gyles returned to the Castle, alone.

In the hall, Gyles was summoned by Wallace on a matter of estate business. He excused himself and left her; Francesca climbed the stairs to her bedchamber in unaccustomed solitude-a luxury she had not recently enjoyed. Although it was nearly time to dress for dinner, she didn’t ring for Millie but grasped the moment to stand by her window and let her thoughts wander.

It didn’t take much pondering to accept that any pressure on her part, any overt demand for more from him, would drive him away-at least emotionally. His defenses would lock into place, and she wouldn’t be able to reach him-he was strong enough to resist her if he wished.

She would have to be patient. And hope. And try to guard her heart.

And do the only thing she could to weight the scales.

Unfortunately, that action was incompatible with guarding her heart.

Drawing in a breath, she held it, then exhaled and turned into the room. Crossing to the bellpull, she rang for Millie.

Chapter 10

A stableboy came running as Gyles trotted into the stable yard. He dismounted; the boy led the horse away. Gyles hesitated, then went into the stable. He stopped before the stall in which Regina stood placidly munching.

“Her ladyship didn’t go out today.”

Gyles turned to see Jacobs coming up the aisle.

“She went for a walk. Saw her heading off to the bluff.”

Gyles inclined his head. There seemed little point in denying he’d been wondering where she was. He strolled back into the sunshine. It was early afternoon and very pleasant out of doors. Too pleasant to go inside to the ledgers that awaited him.

He discovered her on the bluff overlooking the bend in the river. Seated on a bench set amongst flowering shrubs with her back to the old rampart, she was gazing out over the river and fields. In her primrose day gown with a simple yellow ribbon threaded through her dark curls, she looked like a Florentine princess, pensive and far away. Untouchable. Unknowable. He paused, oddly unsure of his right to disturb her, so sunk in her thoughts and so still that sparrows hopped on the grass at her feet.

Her face was serene, composed-distant. Then she turned her head and looked directly at him, and smiled gloriously.

She gestured. “It’s so lovely here. I was admiring the view.”

He studied her face, then walked the last steps to the bench. “I’ve been at the bridge.”

“Oh?” She swept aside her skirts so he could sit. “Is it finished?”

“Almost.” He sat and looked out over the land-his land, his fields, his meadows. “The new bracing should ensure we don’t lose it again.”

“How many families live on the estate?”

“About twenty.” He pointed. “See those roofs? That’s one of the villages.”

She looked, then pointed east. “Is that another?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her. “You must have been here for some time to spot it.” The three thatched roofs were all but concealed by trees.

She lifted her face to the breeze, clearly enjoying having it ripple through her hair. “I’ve come here a few times. It’s a perfect vantage point from which to learn the lay of the land.”

He waited, his gaze on her face, but she kept her gaze on the rolling green and said no more.

“Have you had trouble with the staff?”

Her head whipped around. “No.” She considered him. “Did you think I would?”

“No.” He could see the subtle amusement lurking in her eyes. “But I did wonder how you were getting on.”

Her smile dawned. “Very well.” He lost contact with her eyes as she stood. “But I should be getting back.”

Suppressing a spurt of irritation, he rose, too, and matched her stride as she climbed the sloping bank. He’d been trying for the last two days to get some indication of how she was faring, how she was coping. Whether she was happy. It wasn’t a question he could ask outright, not as things were. But a week had now passed since they’d wed, and while he had no complaints, he did wonder if she was content.

She was his wife, after all, and if he was having his cake and eating it, too, thanks to her sensible acceptance of his plan, then it seemed only fair that she should at least be satisfied with her new life.

But he couldn’t ask the simple question, and she stubbornly answered all his queries literally, smiling and sidestepping his point. That only made him wonder all the more.

At the top of the rise, she paused, drew in a savoring breath, then she slanted him a catlike smile. Her eyes held his as he joined her, daring him to look at her breasts, at her figure clearly outlined as the breeze plastered her gown to it.

Another of her ploys-distraction. He arched a brow, and she laughed. The husky sound spiraled through him, reminding him of the night just gone and they games they’d played.

She was an expert at distraction.

Smiling, she linked her arm through his. They started across the lawns, fallen leaves crunching under their feet, the scent of autumn in the air.

“If there is anything you would like-anything to do with the household or the house-I take it you know you have only to ask?”

His dry comment had her lips twitching. She inclined her head; silken black tendrils fleetingly caressed his cheek. “If I should discover anything I need, I’ll remember you said so.”

She glanced at him from under her lashes, a habit she had-one he’d learned. He caught her gaze, trapped it, held it. After a long moment, he slowly arched a brow.

Francesca wrenched her gaze from his and looked ahead. “If I discover a need… but at present, I have everything I… Who is this?”

Breathless, glad to have a distraction from her lie, she gestured to the black carriage drawn up in the forecourt.

“I wondered how long it would be.”

Gyles’s tone had her glancing his way, this time with open puzzlement.

“The coach belongs to our nearest neighbors, the Gilmartins. I’m surprised Lady Gilmartin was prevailed upon to wait the full week.”

“They weren’t at the wedding?”

Gyles shook his head. Taking her hand, he led her up the steps. “They were visiting in Scotland, thank God.” He glanced her way. “Prepare to be exclaimed over.”

She threw him a puzzled frown, but let him open the door and hand her over the threshold-

“Ah! There they are! Well, my goodness!” A large, amply bosomed matron fluttering a pink-fringed shawl descended on Francesca. “Well, my lord.” The woman threw an arch glance at Gyles. “You are a dark horse. And here all the local ladies were certain you had an aversion to matrimony! Ha-ha!” The lady beamed at Francesca, then swooped, and brushed cheeks. “Wallace was trying to say you were indisposed, but we saw you plain as day by the bluff.”

Francesca exchanged a glance with the stony-faced Wallace, then took the lady’s hand in hers. “Lady Gilmartin, I take it?”

“Ah-ha!” Her ladyship twinkled at Gyles. “I see my reputation goes before me. Indeed, my dear, we live just past the village.”

Grasping her ladyship’s elbow, Francesca steered her toward the drawing room. Irving hurried to open the door.

Lady Gilmartin prattled on. “You must come and take tea, of course, but we thought to drop by this afternoon and welcome you to our little circle. Eldred?”

Reaching the center of the drawing room, Francesca released her ladyship and turned to see an anemic gentleman entering by Gyles’s side. Next to Gyles, he looked wilted and withered. He bowed and smiled weakly; Francesca smiled back. Drawing in a bracing breath, she waved Lady Gilmartin to the chaise. “Please be seated. Wallace-we’ll have tea.”

Subsiding into an armchair, Francesca watched as Lady Gilmartin sorted her shawls.

“Now, where were we?” Her ladyship looked up. “Oh, yes-Clarissa? Clarissa? Where have you got to, gel?”